


just like that it rushes back

by ThisJoyAndI



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 03, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6997912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisJoyAndI/pseuds/ThisJoyAndI
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(every part of you)<br/>Tommy, Grace, and impossible reunions. 'They all underestimate her, Father Hughes especially. They all forget that she’s more than just a wife, more than just a mother. She was Grace Burgess before she was Grace Shelby, and she shall see herself safe.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like that it rushes back

Grace wakes in an unfamiliar room, pain throbbing from just under her collarbone. “Tommy?” she murmurs, half-asleep and groggy. Her hand stretches out along the bed for her husband, but she feels only scratchy sheets, instead of the silky ones Tommy purchased in New York especially for their bedroom. The feeling jolts her awake, her eyes opening entirely.

“Tommy?” she calls once more, blinking in the morning light. She tries to sit up, but finds her limbs stiff and unable to move, the pain in her shoulder far too great. She winces, inhaling sharply. She isn’t wearing the dress she picked out especially for the charity dinner, Tommy’s sapphire gone from around her neck. Even her wedding ring is gone, and she misses the weight of it on her finger. “Tommy?”

A man walks into the room, one whom is not her husband. The man is no one she’s ever met before, no one she knows. He’s entirely unfamiliar to her, dressed all in black and offering her a gentle smile in gretting. She supposes he means the gesture to be reassuring, but she instead finds it unnerving, her heart racing in her chest. Someone has dressed her wound, stitched it, but she can still feel the bullet hitting her, can hear Tommy’s cries of anguish above her and her breathless attempts to calm him. Where is he? More importantly, where is she? The last thing she remembers is Tommy pressing a kiss to her temple as they loaded her into the ambulance. After that...nothing. She isn't even certain what day it is. 

“Hello Grace,” the man murmurs, coming to sit by her. “How are you feeling?”

She blinks at him, narrowing her eyes as she forces herself to sit up, forces herself to appear more invincible than she feels. She knew death was always going to be a risk when it came to being Tommy’s wife…but she never quite imagined ever actually getting hurt, never dwelled on how excruciating it would feel to know someone wanted to hurt Tommy so badly they tried to kill her. Where _is_ he?

“Who are you?” Grace queries, lacing her hands together in her lap. The blanket covering her is far too heavy and confining for her liking, but she refuses to shift it, refuses to let this man see more of her than he is already. She deplores the way his gaze on her skin makes her feel, like an insect he'd crush if given the chance. “Where am I?”

The man smiles once more, a silver cross dangling from around his neck. The sight of it reminds her of something, but she isn't certain what. Was he at the charity dinner? She doesn’t remember, and it infuriates her. “My name is Father Hughes,” he informs her, pressing a hand to her forearm. “And you’re safe, Grace. Do you remember what happened?”

“Someone tried to kill me. Obviously,” she says, waving a hand over her upright form, “they failed.” She arches a brow at him. “Was it you?”

The priest laughs, a sound more unwelcome than his smile.  “No, no, it wasn’t me. I’m the one keeping you safe, Grace, why would I want to kill you?”

“I don’t need you to keep me safe,” she bites out. “I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.”

If only she had a gun. If only she hadn’t made Tommy promise they’d never keep guns in the house, never let Charlie see one. If only she had some sort of weapon concealed on her person…although she suspects, from her lack of jewellery and foreign clothing, they'd stripped her person whilst she was sleeping and would have then found any weapons she had on her. No weapon, a murky memory, and aching limbs. She’s entirely powerless, and she hates it.

“Get comfortable, Grace,” the priest tells her, standing up from the chair and smoothing down his robe. He walks over to the door, turns the doorknob and eases it open. “I’ve a feeling you’ll be here for quite some time.”

She refuses to cry at his words, but the tears well in her eyes nonetheless.

_Where are you, Tommy?_

\---

Every morning when she wakes in the same small room, opens her eyes to see the same four white walls, she thinks for a few moments about trying to escape, thinks about running when the door opens to allow her breakfast to be wheeled in. But as soon as she begins to move, so too does the baby swelling in her stomach, and the morning those tiny fluttering sensations beginning spells the end of any thoughts of escaping. It would be alright, if it is just her she has to think about. If it is just her, she would have made her attempt at escaping weeks ago, would have possibly gotten as far as the front door before being taken down. Tommy already believes she’s died, she’s read the funeral announcement – _Grace Helen Shelby, beloved wife and mother. She will be missed_  - the priest pressed into her hand with yet another of his repulsive grins. Her husband thinks she’s dead, so even if she did die attempting to escape, his grief would still be the same incapacitating force it surely is now.

But now, there’s the baby to consider. Truthfully, she did suspect something, but chalked her tiredness and lack of appetite up to organising the wedding and then the institute. She planned on visiting a doctor, after everything settled down…but she never got the chance to, did she? She’s been in this room for weeks, days blurring into days, and she cannot deny the truth anymore. Her belly is swelling, slowly, and the baby’s moving inside of her, somehow still alive after everything she’s been through. It pains her to think such a thing, but for its sake she cannot do anything reckless – not if she wants to protect the baby. She knows Charlie is safe, has been told as such after she asked about him for the seventh time, knows Tommy would have made it so their son is safe, and so it is upon her that the duty of protecting his sibling rests.

No one else knows of its existence, not even Father Hughes. Aside from a maid reapplying her bandage for the first week or so, countless weeks have passed and she’s seen no doctor, no nurse, no one else besides Father Hughes himself and the silent maid whom brings her meals. The only form of medicine she receives is a sharp needle to the neck, a needle which causes her to sleep when Father Hughes isn't in the mood to answer her questions. Grace knows she won’t be able to hide the truth for much longer, not if her calculations over the baby’s date of conception prove to be correct, but she can only hope she manages to devise a plan of escape before someone suspects the truth and Father Hughes has yet another thing to use against Tommy. He tells her all of his plans, whispers them to her as if she should be proud of what he is going to do to the man she loves, the son she carried inside of her for nine months and has cherished so very deeply since the moment she realised his existence. Grace longs to strike him, to claw at his face and render him incapable of committing such evil, but for the sake of the child inside her she manages to resist her urges. Her cool demeanour obviously displeases him, for he would like nothing more than to have good reasoning to hurt her, because hurting her would hurt Tommy. 

Even when he tells her that her husband is sleeping with Tatiana, tells her that Mary has seen them together in their bedroom, Tatiana waltzing around the house Tommy bought for her as if she is its lady, Grace doesn’t outwardly retaliate, merely sucks in a shallow breath and remains quiet. There’s business, and there’s love. She told that to May over two years ago, and she still believes it wholeheartedly. To Tommy, Tatiana is simply business. Grace is confident in her husband's love for her, and whilst the idea of him sleeping with another woman pains her more than she’d like to admit, he believes her to be dead. She can’t be angry with him, not when she’d rather be furious at the man keeping them apart, making Tommy resort to such measures in his grief.

 _We’ll be home soon_ , she tells him. _We won’t be trapped in this room forever_ , she promises their baby. A girl, she thinks. She’d like a daughter, and hopes Tommy will be agreeable to naming her after his mother.

But she cannot expect Tommy to come to her rescue, not when he thinks she’s dead. With nothing other than religious texts to entertain her, Grace does wonder how exactly they managed to convince him of such a thing, why he accepted she was dead without ever demanding to see her body one last time, but she supposes grief can make people do almost anything. She cannot remember any of the time she surely spent in the hospital, so she’s at an utter loss to explain what occurred, and she doesn't dare ask Father Hughes for fear of having to hear him crow of his triumph over Tommy.

Her heart longs for her husband, her dreams filled with happy moments in which they reunite and are safe once more. She misses him so very much, and she knows it is likely the same for him, his longing made worse by her supposed death. Grace can only hope that his family is taking care of him whilst she cannot, no matter how much Polly disliked her coming back into his life. She hopes someone, Ada preferably, is making sure Charles is comfortable of a night-time, even if they do not sing him to sleep like she loves to do. She misses them both so very much, and sometimes it is only the knowledge of the life thriving inside her that calms her, makes her grit her teeth and swallow her ire at the audacity of Father Hughes in separating her from her husband, from her son.

She has to save herself, and so Grace plans. She eats the meals offered, more for the health of the baby than from any real desire to eat, she pretends to be engrossed in the books Father Hughes offers her, and she makes polite conversation with the man whilst longing to strike him down. She waited seven years to seek revenge for her father’s death. She’s more than capable of waiting for the right time, of devising a plan that shall see her and her baby safe. They all underestimate her, Father Hughes especially. They all forget that she’s more than just a wife, more than just a mother. She was Grace Burgess before she was Grace Shelby, and she shall see herself safe.

\---

Autumn turns to summer as she waits, her belly becoming more and more difficult to hide as the days pass. She’s grateful Father Hughes is far too busy organising his move against Tommy to pay her regular visits, and that her maid seems far more interested in the floor than in her. She suspects Father Hughes’ unwelcome attention when the girl was younger may have something to do with her timidness, and the thought makes her long to see the man dead even more. Her plan is simple – attempt an escape on the day Father Hughes will move against Tommy, when his men shall hopefully be too preoccupied with their individual tasks to pay any notice to her departure. She’s managed to hide a dinner knife under her mattress, an object which shall hardly inflict any damage upon use, but knowing she has something in her possession she can use a weapon calms her. 

The plan, one she has spent sleepless nights devising, in the end is unnecessary. She awakes exactly one week before she is due to employ it, to utter havoc in the house. She dresses herself quickly, her simple cotton dress straining over her belly, and eases her door open amidst loud shouting. Someone runs past her in the hallway and she furrows her brow, dinner knife clenched tightly in her hand. What the hell is going on? Where is Father Hughes?

She doesn’t dwell too long on the chaos, taking advantage of it to slip out of the open door, breathing the morning air in deeply. She grins, quickly, to herself, one hand on her belly as she makes her way down the stairs and onto the road, knife still clutched in her hand. A man eyes her with caution from his house, still clad in his pyjamas as he collects his milk, and she drops the knife as she makes her way to him, conscious of the fact that she must look slightly deranged.

To his credit, he doesn’t back away from her. “Hello,” she greets him, offering him a smile. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my way. If you would be so kind, could you please drive me somewhere? My husband will reward you handsomely for your trouble.”

He casts a glance down at her bare hands, her ring lost to her in the chaos that has become of her captor’s house, and then looks up at her swollen belly. Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Husband? No, you’ve no husband, and I’ve no desire to take you anywhere.”

“Please,” she murmurs, hand coming to grip his forearm. “Please.” Grace swallows, looking at him directly. “My husband is Tommy Shelby. You’ve heard of him, yes?” The man nods, his eyes now wider than before. “Then you know that if he finds out you didn’t agree to take me to him, he’ll be angry with you. Now, I don’t want that. You don’t want that. All I want," she breathes, "is to see my husband, and I need you to take me to him.” She tightens her grip, exhaling. “Please.”

The man nods, placing his milk down hurriedly and easing the gate open. He sees her safely situated in the passenger seat before making his way around to the driver’s side, clambering into the car. “Where would you like me to take you, Mrs. Shelby?” he asks, quietly, nervously. She smiles at him, smooths a hand over her belly.

“The institute, please.” She read about it in a newspaper, terribly out of date. The charity she urged Tommy to create, the one she poured so much of her heart and soul into, he had named it after her. Father Hughes merely laughed, snatching the paper out of her grasp and shaking his head. She knew what he would have liked to do to those poor children, what he would have done, if Tommy hadn’t refused his interference. He’d told her as much, told her that if he could, he would have done to same to Charlie, to her sweet, sweet boy. She hopes he’s dead, although she would have longed to kill him herself. She hopes he died painfully, slowly, hopes no one shall mourn him. “Take me to the Grace Shelby Institute.”

The man nods, pulling the car out onto the street. As he drives, she takes in her first real view of the outside world in months. They’re only just outside of Birmingham, she realises as they drive. All that time, all those months, she’s been mere minutes away and Tommy hadn’t a clue. She swallows thickly, bites down hard on the corner of her lip to stop the tears from falling. Today is a happy day, she tells herself. Today is a happy day.

Hopefully, someone at the institute will be able to tell her Tommy’s whereabouts. She doesn’t expect him to be there, but she doesn’t dare go to the house when she doesn’t know if it’s safe. She might be free, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to breathe, truly breathe, until Tommy’s arms wrap around her and hold her tight to him. She knows Charlie is likely at the house and she longs to see him, longs to gather him in her arms and apologise for being away for so long, but she can’t risk it. She won’t risk it, not when freedom is so very sweet.

The institute is just how she remembers it, with the flowers she organised to have planted blooming at either side of the steps. She smiles at the sight of them, slips out of the car with help from her now eager to assist stranger, and inhales deeply as a means of steadying herself before entering. “Wait here a moment, please,” she instructs the man, squaring her shoulders and making her way up the stairs. There’s an audible gasp as she makes herself known to the secretary manning the desk, a woman by the name of Katherine she’d personally hired for her friendly nature and skill at baking, and after a few moments of hurried, clipped conversation on Grace’s behalf she exits the building.

Katherine tells her that Tommy is at home, and so home is where she shall go. 

Only, when she lifts her gaze, she sees his car. The very car they’d driven when they took Charlie to the countryside, let him toddle amongst the grass and eat far too many leaves. She looks to her right, and she sees the rest of his family spilling out of their respective cars – Polly, Ada, Arthur, John, Finn, Esme, Linda, Karl. _Everyone_. Including Tommy. Her heart thuds in her chest and she almost slips down the stairs in her haste to get to him. She wants to cry out his name, but she seemingly cannot form the words.

He sees her before she manages to speak, his mouth moving soundlessly. She stops, standing still as he takes her in, before she watches him shake his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. One of his hands come to hit his forehead repeatedly, his golden wedding band glittering in the morning sun. The noise draws Arthur’s attention and he furrows his brow at the sight of her before hurrying to his brother, his palms clutching either side of Tommy’s jaw. She is unsure what to do, the baby swirling in her stomach, and she clutches the stranger’s car next to her for support. Ada makes to move towards her, but stops herself, gripping Karl’s hand instead.

She cannot hear what Tommy and Arthur are discussing, but she can see the anguish on her husband’s face. Does he not believe her to be real? Grace wants to go to him, wants to tell him that she is, but her feet won’t move. She inhales sharply and forces them to, takes one unsteady step after the other until it is her who is gripping Tommy’s jaw, not Arthur.

He will not look directly at her, Arthur stepping away until he has rejoined the family, Tommy's darting, wild gaze reminding her of his horse, the one he’d shot the rainy night she sang to him. She runs her fingers along his jaw tenderly, taking in his newest scars and bruises and promising to kiss every single one. Blinking back tears, she holds his jaw steady so she can look him directly in his eyes, and murmurs, “I’m here, Tommy. I’m real.”

He swallows, hands coming to rest on top of hers. His wedding band is cool against her skin, and she inhales sharply at the thought of him wearing it, even when he’d thought her to be dead. “You’re real,” he repeats, softly. His blue eyes do not blink, merely look at her. Her belly comes between them, restricting her from holding him as tightly as she would like, but Tommy has yet to notice. He only has eyes for her, his mouth moving but no words forming.

“How?” is all he manages to says, a hand coming to caress her cheek, to run through her longer hair. “How, Grace?”

“Father Hughes,” she answers him, revelling in the feeling of his hand against her skin. She’s dreamt about this for months, but no dream could ever compare to the reality. She smiles up at him, softly, fleetingly. She knows in that moment, judging from her husband’s clenched jaw, that her captor is dead, most likely by his hands. “But it doesn’t matter, Tommy. Not really. All that matters is you and me. I’m here, and I shall never leave you again. I promise,” she murmurs against his lips, tentatively kissing him once, and then once more.

Her kiss jolts Tommy out of his daze, her husband finally noticing her altered state. His hand pulls away from her hair to rest on her belly, his gaze entirely absorbed by it. They’d talked about having more children, but only fleetingly, confident that they’d be able to discuss it more in depth when Charlie was older and Shelby Brothers Limited entirely legitimate. But, judging from Tommy’s shaky inhale, both she and the baby are a welcome balm, Tommy caressing her bump almost reverently. The baby moves inside of her as if in reply, and she grins. “A girl, I think, Tommy.”

“A girl,” he breathes, pulling his gaze away from her belly to look at her. He brushes away the tears on her cheeks, tears she cannot remember spilling. “I’ve missed you, Grace,” he tells her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She breathes deeply, head resting in the crook of his neck. “Oh, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

“Take me home, Tommy,” she instructs him, lips pressed against his skin. She wants to lie with him, right here and now. She wants to strike him for sleeping with another woman. She wants him to hold him tight to her and never let him go. She wants everything, all at once. Grace pulls slightly out of his embrace, a hand brushing his hair off of his forehead. “Take me home, and tell me everything that has occurred whilst I've been away.”

**Author's Note:**

> Netflix, can you please hurry up with the last 2 episodes because speculating about Grace's fate/her reunion with Tommy/where the hell she is/who has her is driving me slightly crazy. And I really don't have time to be obsessing so much over a television show, not with uni exams next week. 
> 
> I would LOVE it if Grace has been working undercover all this time...but unfortunately a kidnapping by Father Hughes seems like the way SK is going to go. So, here's my take on that, a take which will probably be proven false by the show. Also, the stills for ep 6 show the family at the institute and another scene where Arthur's restraining Tommy, but I chose to combine those two scenes and centre them around a reunion with Grace because hey, if I'm going to possibly flout canon, I'm going to flout canon. I'm crossing everything that the next 2 eps give us all a little relief when it comes to Grace's fate and her and Tommy's relationship, because Tommy's grief and the things he's doing because of it is hurting me so very much.


End file.
